I have the whole coffeeshop to myself. Bejeweled longhorn skulls adorn the walls. The day outside is gray and drizzly, a rarity here in Texas, making indoors feel even more dim.
I am showing up to write today, because it is my day to do so. A lovely young girl is taking care of my sweet boy, not five minutes down the road, while I revel in what I crave most in these motherhood days: time, alone, at the coffeeshop, with books and coffee. While I drain my dark mocha I refill my cup: I scroll through blogs and fill up on inspiration.
I am feeling a subtle but powerful shift in these days, like the first hook of a strong undertow. Changes are afoot. Old ways of being are about to be cast off, like worn, ill-fitting pieces of clothing belonging to someone I used to be in another life. I am seeking and craving nourishment: not the rush and fizzle of the sweetness I reach for as a balm to soothe the dull ache of discomfort, but a long, lasting goodness like rain drenching down to the parched tree roots deep in Texas summer. The same rain I opened the bedroom door to last night, listening to its drumming on the tin porch roof from where I lay stretched out, root-like, on the yoga mat, opening to what is hurt and broken inside, this listening the first step in beginning to mend.
Rain in summer in the South; being able to be outside, comfortable, in the afternoons; opening doors and windows: small miracles we welcome with open, cupped hands, ready to drink in the goodness. In this season of miracles, maybe I'll reap one more: believing that I can, and will, make a change.
:: playing along with heather at the eo ::